ils around the town, quietly
interviewing all such teamsters and horsemen as might by any chance know
something about it, yet in answer to her persistent inquiries all she
had received was a blank shake of the head or an earnest expression of
willingness to assist her. So, because she had continued her search for
three days without success, inquiring and peering into every nook and
corner of the community, she finally had come to regard her quest as
hopeless, and to become more than ever an image of despair.

The evening of the fourth day there was a dance. It was one of the
regular monthly affairs, and because Helen was a member of the committee
she felt it her duty to attend. One of the young men, accompanied by his
mother and sister, drove out for her, but she left the house with
reluctance and a marked predisposition not to enjoy herself. But she
forgot this when she presently beheld the young man from the East whom
she had encountered on the mesa. He was standing close beside a rather
frail little woman, undoubtedly his mother, who with the matrons of the
town was seated near a fireplace watching the dancers. He was
introduced. Later they sat out one of his numbers alone together in a
corner behind some potted palms. In the course of their conversation
Helen informed him of the disappearance of her horse, and asked him, as
she asked everybody she met now, if he knew anything or had heard
anything concerning the loss. The young man knew nothing of the great
disappearance, however, though he did offer it as his belief that a
horse of Pat's obvious value could not long remain in obscurity. This
was encouraging, and Helen felt herself become hopeful again. But when
he offered his services in the search, as he did presently, she felt not
only hopeful again, but somehow quite certain now that it would all be
cleared up. For there was that in this young gentleman which caused
confidence. What she told him, however, was that she was grateful for
his offer, and should be greatly pleased to have him with her.

And thus it was that, on the morning of the fifth day, Helen Richards
and Stephen Wainwright--the young man's name--together with two of
Helen's close friends, were riding slowly across the mesa, alert for any
combination in harness which might reveal the lost Pat. Helen and
Stephen were well in the lead, and Helen had broken the silence by
addressing Stephen as a native, recalling their first meeting. Whereupon
the y